Turniej Tłumaczy 2001

Stanisław Baliński
Niedziela

Sunday

On tepid Sunday afternoons in summer
As I limp in boredom with my gnawing demons
Beneath a sky pale as an anenome,
The elderly sit in a row,
Framed above the water like flowers in bloom.
Dressed in clean, bright pleasant colors,
Men and women alike bend over
And they look into the water, at how it disappears
Wave after wave, world after world,
They drink one tea after another
Speaking (in low melodic voices):

– What a pity, what a pity, what a pity,
That our days, our Springtime (even that of our dreams)
Flowed without passion, without a single sound
Just as this water does.

Przetłumaczone na język angielski przez:
Molly Mackinnon (USA)


Sunday

On summer Sunday afternoons,
When boredom’s demon rolls a ball
Across the anemone-pale sky…
Beside a water framed by flowers,
Old people seat themselves in lines,
Crouched-over gentlemen and ladies,
Dressed brightly, sweetly, carefully,
And watch as on the water vanish
Wave after wave, world after world,
Drinking one tea and then another,
Saying (here – a quiet music):

– Such a pity, such a pity, such a pity,
That all our days, our springtime days (even in dreams)
Flowed past as passionless, as soundlessly,
As that water…

Przetłumaczone na język angielski przez:
Colin McGourty (Anglia)


Sunday

On a Sunday summer afternoon,
While limping along bored fighting a demon
Beneath the sky pale like an anemone…
By the water in flowers encased
Sitting in a row were old folks
Hunched women and men
Lightly dressed, nicely, neatly,
And looking in the water, as it decayed,
Wave after wave, world after world,
Drinking tea after tea,
Saying (here – as quiet music):

– What a pity, what a pity, what a pity,
That our days, spring days (as if in a dream)
Sailed by dispassionately, seamlessly,
Just like this water.

Przetłumaczone na język angielski przez:
Michael Schindler (USA)


Sunday

On a sunday summer afternoon,
As the demon rolls the ball of boredom
Across the heavens pale as anemone…
Over the water framed in flowers,
Sit the elders in a line,
Sloping men and women,
Brightly, warmly, neatly clothed,
And they look into the water, how it fades away
Wave after wave, world after world,
Tea after tea they drink
Saying (here – quiet music):

– What a pity, what a pity, what a pity,
That our days, days of spring (even in a dream)
Swim passionless, soundless,
As this water.

Przetłumaczone na język angielski przez:
Timothy Hinrichs (USA)

Accessibility